Emi Devereux and the Halls of Hogwarts
by antiqui-tea
Summary: Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was not prepared to endure another term of Emeline Devereux's antics. She has been shipped off to Hogwarts with her half-sister, Eleanor Devereux, as a consequence of expulsion. Perhaps studying abroad will curb her impish behavior. Perhaps.
1. Chapter One

Raindrops dotted the misty window of compartment number six. Beyond the glass, the landscape was a blur; it was a dreary, overcast day - perfect for traveling.

There were two passengers settled nicely within; both were unoccupied, yet neither spoke a word. It had been quiet in the compartment for quite some time. Upon departing from King's Cross station, Emeline and Eleanor Devereux had resigned themselves to silence.

The occasion, much like the weather, was somber indeed.

Suddenly, the compartment door slid open. A jolly looking woman with brown ringlets and red cheeks peered inside, hoping to make a sale. She was pushing a cart stocked with goodies of all kinds and colors. Her company was well-received by young Emeline. The girl beamed, unable to contain her delight.

"Anything from the trolley, dears?" the woman asked.

"Oh my gosh!" Emeline was on her feet at once. "It all looks so good! Cauldron Cakes, Pumpkin Pasties, Licorice Wands..." she glanced at her sister. "Can I get something Nora? Please?"

Eleanor, the girl's elder sister, cast a glance at the woman's wares. Emeline was right: _everything_ looked good. After a beat, Eleanor reached for her pocketbook and produced a coin purse.

"I would like a square of Treacle fudge, please," Eleanor said, "Em, get whatever you like - but don't spoil your appetite. We'll be arriving soon."

Knowing well her sister's ire, Emeline asked for one Cauldron Cake and nothing more. She exchanged three bits of coin for their purchase and promptly returned to her seat.

"Thank you, dear," the plump woman replied, pocketing the change. "enjoy!"

When the compartment door slid closed, Emeline extended her reach and offered the piece of fudge to her sister. Eleanor accepted the gesture without uttering as much as a "thank you." She did, however, nod agreeably.

Emeline, a girl of twelve, was unlike most children her age. She was bold, boisterous - a notorious troublemaker. In fact, her tempestuous disposition was largely responsible for their predicament.

The Cauldron Cake was sticky and sweet. Gobs of green goo oozed out of the pastry with every bite that Emeline took. It dribbled down her chin, thereby dripping onto her blouse. She had yet to notice; Eleanor, however, was immediately aware.

"Emi, for goodness' sake!" Eleanor exclaimed, "you're making a mess!"

"What?" she seemed taken aback, "it's fine! It's not like I'm gonna wear this during the Sorting Ceremony. I still have to change."

Eleanor finished the last of her fudge and stood, reaching into the overhead bin. From it, she retrieved her sister's luggage. The suitcase landed on the leather-bound seat with a "plop."

"Why don't you go and do that, then?" she suggested, unbuckling the suitcase, "here. Let me find your robes."

Emeline gobbled the last few morsels of her chocolatey snack and watched as Eleanor fussed with the latch. Tricky thing, that: the fastener had been broken for years.

"So, what?" Emeline chirped, crossing her arms, "are you Mom now? Am I supposed to listen to everything you say? Do you want a 'yes ma'am' every time you tell me to do something?"

At last, the insurmountable tension between the girls had peaked. There was a bitterness to Emeline's tone; Eleanor did not take kindly to it.

"So long as we are together," she began, "you _will_ do as I say. Do I make myself clear?"

Emeline scoffed and crossed her arms. "Yeah, whatever. You know what? If _my_ mom was here–"

The train rounded a bend. At the very same moment, Eleanor managed to unfasten the latch on her sister's baggage. She fumbled, then, and a pile of Emeline's garments tumbled onto the floor.

Exasperated, Eleanor tore the new Hogwarts robes out of the heap and tossed them at her sister. "Well she's not," she said quiet plainly, "get dressed."

Without another word, Emeline snatched the crumpled uniform from the hand that held it and stormed out of the compartment. Her footfalls were heavy and could be heard as she made her way to the lavatory. Her leave left Eleanor to attend the mess.

A few moments later, a figure appeared in the threshold; the compartment door had been left ajar, much to Eleanor's surprise. She lifted her head mid-tidy and glanced at the new arrival. A smile formed on her lips despite the situation.

Standing by was a boy with dark hair and wide, blue eyes. He seemed to be about Emeline's age, though perhaps a bit younger. Upon closer inspection, Eleanor took note of his attire. The colorless uniform confirmed Eleanor's suspicion: the boy was a first-year student.

"I heard shouting – and then a crash," he said, "can I do anything to help?"

Eleanor, flattered, shook her head. "Oh no, it's all right," she replied, reaching for a bundle of socks, "really, it is. Just had a bit of a mishap with my sister's luggage."

"Oh." He replied, glancing about the space. "Okay."

"But I appreciate the offer," Eleanor stood, momentarily disregarding the mess that she had made. In a gesture of goodwill, she extended her reach. "My name is Eleanor, by the way - Eleanor Devereux. And you are?"

Taking her hand, the boy replied, "Albus Potter."


	2. Chapter Two

A cacophony of voices resonated within the boathouse. Throngs of first-year students – all dressed in gray uniforms – disembarked from their respective vessels and filed into the space. It was lit only by the glow of a dim, candle-burning lantern, which was held aloft by a giant of a man.

"Firs'-years, welcome to Hogwarts," he said stepping aside, "up the stairs now, come on. Don' wan' to be late for supper."

 _Clip, clop, clack!_ The sounds of eager footsteps echoed as students clambered up the stone staircases. Emeline fell behind, however; she was in no hurry to attend the sorting ceremony.

Hagrid, as he was called, took stride beside her, "what's the matter? Worried abou' what house you'll be sorted into?"

"No." Emeline said firmly.

"Come on, now – everyone worries 'bout it at one point or another," he replied. His tone was warm and reassuring.

"I've already been sorted," she remarked. "I'm a Thunderbird. I shouldn't even be here."

"Blimey, you're her."

A few of Emeline's peers paused to looked at the pair following Hagrid's assessment. They exchanged glances, shrugged, and then resumed walking. The incident, though brief, left Emeline feeling rather embarrassed.

"Sorry abou' that," Hagrid said, "jus' caught me by surprise, it did."

"I don't want to talk about it."

The two ascended the staircase in silence; Hagrid thought it best to refrain from prying – even though her reputation was of interest. How, exactly, had she been expelled from Ilvermorny?

"Alright, comin' through – 'scuse me," he lumbered through the crowd, attempting to reach the landing before the last few students did.

Waiting for them at the entrance to the Great Hall was a man – presumably one of the Hogwarts faculty members. He had tidy, dark hair and had donned a two-piece grey suit. Where there should have been a tie, his collar was unbuttoned. There was a casual, yet cold, aura about him.

"This is Professor Stroud," Hagrid moved aside and continued ushering the first-years along. "Evenin', Professor."

"Good evening," he replied. "That will be all, Hagrid."

"Right – uh…s'pose I'll be seein' you later, then."

Lantern grasped firmly in hand, Hagrid turned and made his way back down to the water. He had to be sure that each boat was secure before attending the sorting ceremony himself.

Revelry dwindled in the presence of Professor Stroud. He was stern, rigid, and needlessly shrewd. The man observed those in his custody without saying a word; there were approximately sixty students in total – a group larger than in years past.

After a brief time, Stroud addressed the assembly in front of him.

"You realize," he said, "that upon entering the Hall, you will be sorted into your houses." Stroud took pause and clasped his hands behind his back, "there are four houses, each of them tailored to suit your strengths: Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Gryffindor, and Hufflepuff."

A collective murmur arose from the masses.

"I hope to be sorted into Gryffindor," a boy whispered.

"Why?" a sharp voice quipped, "I'm sure that you and your new friend would be much happier in Slytherin."

"Rose," he said, "I just wanted to–"

Stroud's sharp, blue eyes settled on the two prattling first-years. "Though perhaps there are those among you who would be content to revisit the Hogwarts Express…"

Emeline, who had managed to work her way to the front of the group, elbowed the boy with her right arm. He stopped speaking immediately.

"You must be Albus Potter," Professor Stroud drew nearer, then. "Tell me, Mr. Potter: would you like for me to arrange it?"

Albus shook his head rather quickly.

"May I continue, Mr. Potter? Are you quite finished?"

Once again, Albus replied nonverbally. He nodded to verify that he was, indeed, finished.

"Now then…houses are awarded points throughout the year based on academic excellence and personal merit; furthermore, it is possible to lose points," he said, returning his attention to the group. "Speaking out of turn, for example," he added, "could result in a deduction of points."

No one spoke.

"If there are no questions," he began, "then I do believe that we are ready to enter the Great Hall."

It had been a formality; Professor Stroud had never meant to take, or answer, any questions.


End file.
